Bride of Frankenstein

People continue to misunderstand Frankenstein's (Boris Karloff) harmless peaceful ambitions, and set out to thoroughly destroy him with distraught malevolent intent.

He's somewhat confused by the grandiose distress and realizes he must avoid the village, hiding out in the surrounding forest where he longs for inclusivity. 

Life's life and who's to challenge what lives if it co-exists with equanimity, securing an active balanced role within Earth's multidimensional nexus.

Frankenstein understands this and strives to harmoniously make friends, but fear and aesthetic prejudice lead to inhospitable conflict.

Meanwhile, another scientist takes wholesome pity on the troubled lad (Ernest Thesiger as Dr. Pretorius), and theorizes that traditional heteronormative constructs may lead to acculturation.

He enlists the reluctant aid of Frankenstein's industrious forefather (Colin Clive as Henry Frankenstein), and sets about creating a mate to appease tumultuous chaotic bearings.

Frankenstein seems somewhat relieved by the altruistic acclamation, having only known disarray since having been shockingly brought to life.

But there's no telling what will happen if the experiment's a success.

Conjugal communal courtly cohesion.

But what if she rejects him?

Few sequels disproportionately proceed with such ineffable progressive momentum, enticingly accelerating with riveting resonance immaculately distilled otherworldly genesis.

Few horror films possess such paramount cultural inoculations, as instinctual bellicose folly is disemboweled with airtight empathy.

The classic scenes where Frankenstein meets the visually impaired violinist living alone in the woods, modest heartfelt honest exemplars of innocent curious tame compassion.

The inspired unchecked ebullience emphatically exclaimed through experimentation, as both doctors philosophically articulate bold corporeal determinations.

Will a future filled with androids be relatively harmless as Picard hopes, or will The Terminator's prophetic bedlam come to calamitously pass?

Does the answer lie within this daring tragic Bride of Frankenstein?

Can animate life for mercy's sake . . .

Also apply to friendly robots?

The Black Cat

Spoiler alert.

A newlywed couple unwinds on their honeymoon, carefreely travelling throughout Eastern Europe, wilfully embracing romantic stratagems, to celebrate their new life together.

Suddenly a stranger joins them in their spacious train compartment, who happens to be heading to the same destination, with which he's intimately familiar (Bela Lugosi as Dr. Vitus Werdegast). 

Upon departure, he secures a ride, and they set off into a forbidding storm, dispiritingly crashing not so long after, lodging fortunately available nearby.

But Vitus has failed to tell them that he's recently returned from prison, and seeks vengeance at the very establishment where they happen to be spending the night.

The owner (Boris Karloff as Hjalmar Poelzig) cheated him during a war along with many of their brave compatriots, for he longed for Vitus's precious wife, and cowardly sought to save his own skin.

Vitus's wife perished shortly thereafter but their daughter enchantingly grew, and eventually wed the man who had ruined her family, lacking paramount prerequisite knowledge.

He also loyally worships Satan and conducts forbidden rituals with local elites at his home.

The young couple struggles to adapt.

Without preponderant divine mercy.

More concerned with character and mood than striking shocking spry special effects, The Black Cat haunts without graphic supplement, as old school legends face off for the first time.

Was this narrative frightening for audiences way back and does it still scare peeps to this very day, have there always been those who find it comic, or perhaps abounding with sardonic frights?

Horror certainly has become much more technical in terms of mind-bogglingly mad diabolics, if you went from finding The Black Cat startling what would you make of A Nightmare on Elm Street?

Is horror more suited to the censors of its time or can it function at random, ahistorically?, audiences from the '30s would have been less familiar with Freddy or Jason, but their world was much more accustomed to war torn strife.

Were censors more strict long ago because the world was still much more blunt and chaotic, and they refused to encourage theoretical bedlam because they distrusted aggrieved elementals?

Apart from the pandemic, the last 75 years haven't seen grandiose crazed distress, on a mass scale like World War II anyways, not that there haven't been sundry harrowing incidents.

Can't say I'll ever get used to lockdowns.

Although they're necessary when things get out of hand. 

I didn't find The Black Cat comic.

I thought it was a cool bit of offbeat storytelling.

After Hours

A strait-laced data analyst embraces his routine (Griffin Dunne as Paul Hackett), predictability the 9 to 5 smoothly flowing trusted and disciplined. 

An imaginative co-worker dreams of something more (Bronson Pinchot as Lloyd), something beyond cold codes and programs, an open-minded journal that promotes diversity.

Paul dismisses the idea even though he likes to read, mundanely ensconced in static cynicism, unconcerned with creativity.

Yet while reading alone in a diner, a single lass takes compassionate interest (Rosanna Arquette as Marcy), and soon they've decided to meet up later, Mr. Hackett moving beyond his narrow confines.

But should he have left inanimate routine inexplicably behind with adventurous longing, to suddenly extend bland limitations past the stilted sure and steady?

How will he react to liaised limbo immersed in scintillating shock, as enigmatic interactions present uncanny striking novelties?

It's as if he's entered Lloyd's journal with blasé editorial intent, the artists suspicious of his lacking spry free-flowing flexibility.

Instinctually composed beyond traditional direction, oddball night owls offer conspicuous fervid nimble characterizations. 

Bourgeois logic remains irrelevant he can't make the adaptations, his hopeless attempts to assert control instigating chaotic tension.

The journal requires inherent variability latent unorthodox unawareness, without patterns pragmatic paradigms smoothly shifting random flux.

The desire to reasonably analyze in search of auspicious thematic cohesion, leaves him synchronistically stranded as he attempts to swiftly improvise.

But the unknown erratic elements adhesively unite through enthused criticism, generating instantaneous aggrieved startling multidisciplinary import.

Perhaps he'll be a manager some day but on this night he has no agency, and must adjust to the ironic insurrection of laidback generally accommodating peeps.

Thus the arrhythmic inconclusive intuitive chill spontaneous tangents, prove that they don't watch cable television or sit back and read the news.

A wondrous lively essential eclective naturally responding with unclassified stamina, finds momentary momentum uncategorized active spiritual flight.

I'm not sure if he's meant to be comic or if he's portrayed in a tragic light.

Which lends the film a bit of mysticism. 

When thinking about it later on. 

With Teri Garr, John Heard, Cheech & Chong, and Catherine O'Hara. 

Time Trap

An ancient cave far off in the woods inspires archaeological reckoning, as a professor cautiously descends in search of long lost cherished loved ones (Andrew Wilson as Professor Hopper).

His students become concerned when they don't hear from him for days, and decide to locate him themselves at an inquisitive social gathering.

Unaware of germane legend or even folklore or tale or myth, they enthusiastically head out with bold wherewithal and primal bearings.

Following a handy rope, they jabber nonchalantly, intent on freely exploring their clandestine cavernous confines.

Nothing is discovered at first and they settle in to quizzical discourse, embracing feats of daring athleticism, with instinctual guttural accord.

Yet after a short time passes they discover a distressing sight, a team member who stayed with their vehicle has fallen and broken his neck.

But even more disquieting, somewhat shocking and eerie what have you, the video he's taken on his trusty cellphone reveals a rupture in space-time itself.

For Furby (Max Wright) had been waiting for days even though they entered the cave quite recently, the resultant uncanny discrepancy as unnerving as it is provocative. 

They soon learn they've entered a realm as temporally discordant as it is eternal.

The centuries rapidly pass.

Enlightening elegiac entropy.

Time Trap adventurously swells and ahistorically acculturates through inductive exhibition, high spirits and impressionable disbelief curating quandaries and quarrels encloistered.

Like a chaotic bewildering immersion in multivariable synthesized anthropologies, intergenerational mutated millennia remonstrate, reproach, and reify. 

I thought the pacing was well-suited to perplexing accidental endeavour, like uninhibited postmodern inclinations transformed into vigorous atemporal search & rescue.

Perhaps time passes too quickly, however, and some of the cave-dwellers are too inhospitable, but it does make for some riveting sci-fi, with an honest portrayal of global warming.

It's great to see North American legend entertainingly brought to life, and even if there may never have been such a thing, its hypothetical import still secretes heartfelt wonder.

Like on Twin Peaks, there must be so many Native legends to cinematically explore.

While respecting contemporary consultants.

I'm a fan of the sci-fi touch.  

Confidential Report

Spoiler alert.

A man of humble origins obtains astounding wealth, and lives the ostentatious lifestyle well-attuned to extravaganza (Orson Welles as Mr. Arkadin). 

But he has trouble living in the present for some self-obsessed depressing reason, free to do whatever he pleases, he decides to track down old associates.

With ill-intent.

He hires a somewhat clueless blunt do-gooding would-be detective, to discover where they've wound up and any additional information he can find (Robert Arden as Guy Van Stratten). 

He had hoped to blackmail Arkadin with his knowledge of an old school name, and managed to fortunately meet him after getting to know his carefree daughter (Paola Mori as Raina). 

He travels far and wide in search of crucial extant intel, leaving a well-trodden path to follow should one scrutinize his investigation.

He encounters several oddballs enigmatically versed in levity, who supply ample scandalous details of Mr. Arkadin's criminal past.

But he realizes too late that he's been followed and they've been murdered.

And he's been framed for a murder himself.

And there's nowhere left to hide.

Leave things be I say in terms of controversial fascinations, there's peace of mind in a steady job and a potentially loving fulfilling relationship.

After work, there are art museums and a fluid stream of homegrown spectacles at Place des arts, delicately blended with international intrigue the seductive synthesis viscerally reeling.

Plus sports.

A sudden inspired idea can generate piquant multilateral harmonies, ephemerally akin to serendipitous spectrums as genuinely concerned as they are suspicious. 

Perhaps the accumulation of wealth does beget a desire for public recognition, it seems to happen often enough in film and literature, even if the riches were acquired somewhat scandalously. 

Does nominal philanthropy exculpate suspect acquisitive propulsion, like secular sociopolitical tithing written off with a lack of pretence?

It seems like social media would lead to a less ambiguous historical take.

But there are so many competing narratives.

Who tells the most gripping story?

Confidential Report presents a cool cast of characters comically united through witless candour.

Live in the present I say.

Augmented tradition.

Novel change. 

Tampopo

A daring trucker, hungry after a long day on the road (Tsutomu Yamazaki as Gorô), stops in at a local ramen shop, where the other customers are somewhat hostile.

He refuses to observe their bad behaviour and soon an unfair fight begins, Gorô's courage reacting with bellicose vigour, but there are are too many determined opponents. 

But the owner takes pity on him afterwards and they soon find themselves amicably disposed, Gorô noting that her restaurant lacks appeal (Nobuko Miyamoto as Tampopo), and deciding to chill 'til he can help improve things.

They begin rigorously researching the competition to incisively scrutinize strengths and weaknesses, Gorô proving to be a good teacher, thoughtful Tampopo eager to learn.

After having focused upon various aspects of the divergent ways different people serve ramen, it's time to concentrate on the dish itself, to make something coveted, lauded, irresistible.

Fresh insights are eagerly sought and soon they've forged a constructively critical retinue, devoutly seeking sumptuous irrefutability, with avid pluck and gastronomic reserve.

Meanwhile, the world at large engages in random culinary acts.

Uncanny scenes adding cosmopolitan flavour. 

To Tampopo's free-flowing itinerant broth.

Effervescent peculiar poignancy rambunctiously distilling airtight emancipation, Tampopo proceeds according to guidelines unaffiliated with external gravity.

A world particular and personalized caught up with jocose mesmerizing self-indulgence, like so many of my favourite artistic works, it's structurally chaotic, yet imaginatively sound.

Praise for unorthodox individuals having forged convivial eclectives, well-versed in variable revelations, beyond financial or economic rubrics. 

Praise for concerned acts of kindness delicately encouraging slow and steady development, conflict erupting through holistic expansion, thereafter appeased through tact and forgiveness.

Praise for proceeding according to mood whether it be compassionate or volatile, praise for non-sequential spicy abbreviations piquantly presented in poetic overflow.

I thought the killing of a live animal went way too far and I was thoroughly disturbed afterwards.

Otherwise a unique unpredictable tale.

Abounding with full-on whatever.

*With Ken Watanabe. 

Nightbooks

A thoughtful youth likes to write stories that are somewhat frightening if not supernatural (Winslow Fegley as Alex), his nascent creative literary endeavours misunderstood by his strait-laced classmates.

Unfortunately, on the night of his birthday party, no ones shows up to indulge and celebrate, his parents having gone to great lengths to materialize, a fitting festive otherworldly soirée.

They begin to doubt their motivations and callously vocalize their frustrated misgivings, Alex listening closely in the next room, he suddenly decides to run away.

Yet even more disastrous, he decides to burn his cherished books, a haughty witch intercepting him as he proceeds down (Krysten Ritter as Natacha), to his apartment's scalding incinerator. 

The witch is none too accommodating however and traps him inside her magical abode, demanding a new story each and every evening, happy endings strictly forbidden.

Due to his absolutist circumstances, he readily seeks wholehearted escape, with the aid of another resident child (Lidya Jewett as Yasmin), who had been hopeless for quite some time.

But a furless invisible cat watches their movements throughout the day.

And doesn't understand when they find: a spell encouraging slumbrous oblivion.

Nightbooks applauds the grim and macabre with sincere devout unlimited reckoning, securing spellbound enriched daunting fantasies for multivariable epochs to come. 

Firmly resolved to withstand criticism of the artistic desire to explore spooky realms, it champions bold incarnate conjuring perhaps with multidisciplinary respite.

If you're ever mundanely thinking that related genres are lacking forward momentum, I suggest checking out Montréal's Fantasia festival as well, where you'll find innovative stories from around the globe.

I have no idea at what age to start consuming frets and frights, they freaked me out when I was really young, but I was really into them throughout my teens and twenties.

Harry Potter offers fascinating insights into freedom of expression, within a robust world equipped with intricate complex plots and characterizations (what happened to J.K. Rowling?).

Nightbooks too, I really liked Nightbooks, and its stressful examination of writing.

If you're thinking of stories write them down.

Social prestige and criticism be damned. 

*The Dream Warriors was my favourite Nightmare on Elm Street film. I never saw numbers 2 or 5 however.

**Can't believe there's a Child's Play tv show/series coming out. That's mind-boggling considering how strict censors were way back when.

The Starling

No telling how the shock of unexpectedly losing someone will short-circuit, but there's no doubt it's an awful experience requiring patience, understanding, and compassion.

In The Starling, a loving husband is thoroughly overcome with grief (Chris O'Dowd as Jack Maynard), after his baby daughter doesn't wake up, a beautiful gift whom he adored.

He's so overwhelmingly grief-stricken that he checks into a local hospital, where caring sympathetic professionals try their best to ease his pain.

His wife remains at home and continues to work while slowly convalescing, visiting her husband once a week and bringing treats for each encounter (Melissa McCarthy as Lilly Maynard).

But since he doesn't progress and remains sadly lost in a deep depression, she struggles to optimistically adjust, especially when he no longer wants to see her.

It's recommended she seek therapy too, guidance from a former psychiatrist working as a vet (Kevin Kline as Dr. Larry Fine), with whom she strikes up a begrudging friendship, like a therapeutic odd couple.

Meanwhile, she cleans her yard and a resident starling starts to pester her.

She responds with uptight disdain.

Then feels guilty for her hasty actions. 

The Starling doesn't shy away from emphasizing sincere distress, and related waves upon waves of anguish as the Maynards come together. 

But it also praises the painstaking sacrifices spouses make while married at times, providing an amicable unassuming exemplar of devout enduring flexible partnerships. 

So many conflicting emotions difficult to comprehend since they're new and sad, add a steady routine on top of them, and there's bound to be a lot of confusion.

Lilly honestly reacts with genuine innocence as she freely adapts, with classic aggrieved McCarthian carnage, somewhat mollified for sombre subject matter.

As Lilly tries to poison the starling, human/animal relations are oddly characterized, she also hits it with a rock later on, the vet fortunate enough to save it.

After that everything's great for the starling and it seems as if she's welcome in the yard.

This is how people who don't understand human/animal relationships write about them (perhaps like Lindsay Bluth-Fünke). 

I sincerely hope that I'm not missing something. 

The Ice Road

Two brothers contend with anti-social commentaries, one suffering from a potent malady that engenders inhibition (Marcus Thomas as Gurty McCann). 

They're both fired after the other raises fists in his determinate firm defence (Liam Neeson as Mike McCann), after which they're stuck looking for work once again, even though they're resolutely versatile. 

Meanwhile, a methane gas explosion traps miners in Northern Manitoba, and the only equipment that can swiftly free them must be transported by ye olde ice road.

From way down south in the 'Peg.

But it's late April and the road's reliability is called into brittle question, ample compensation offered for the drivers, if they don't break through the ice.

Mike and Gurty take on the job with the aid of fellow truckers Jim Goldenrod (Laurence Fishburne) and Tantoo (Amber Midthunder), Tantoo's brother trapped in the mine below (Martin Sensmeier as Cody Mantooth), with time rapidly running out.

If the melting ice isn't enough of a hazard, sabotage is soon calamitously afoot, as Jim's rig suddenly breaks down, after having passed the pre-trip inspection.

It turns out there's more money to be made in letting men perish than saving their lives.

Mike, Gurty and Tantoo disagree.

And strive onwards in strict contention.

Inherent courage reflexively materializes in the face of daunting unpredictability, as maddening shortsighted voracious decisions write off integral animate life.

As kind-hearted gifted trusted technicians lack viable steadfast agency, since they aren't argumentatively or rhetorically stern, and simply possess expert free-flowing knowledge.

Visceral integrity impacting resilience necessitously arises through cause and effect, boldly adjudicating vivacious spirit in terms of hands-on practical tenacity.

Every once in a while it's fun to take in another high-stakes Liam Neeson film, with an over-the-top epic scenario chaotically encouraging heroic action.

It's not clear cut by any means indeed mistakes are made then compassionately forgiven, the circuitous path to pinnacled payload not as straightforward as one might expect.

Apart from the critical pressures of the stressful melting ice road, scene after scene of diabolical intrigue keeps the kinetic distress flowing.

But it's not concerned with superheroes as provocative realism takes centre stage.

And real people confront a worst case scenario.

With productive teams.

Driven by virtue.